


All He Could Ever Want

by nottoolateforthegame



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Insecure Sherlock, Jealous John, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Oblivious Sherlock, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 01:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12760107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottoolateforthegame/pseuds/nottoolateforthegame
Summary: Someone tampers with Sherlock's heat suppressants. What happens when he realizes he's going into heat, and his body wants to mate with John?





	1. Cover for All He Could Ever Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [796116311389](https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/gifts).



> My Holmestice 2017 gift to [796116311389](https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389) (aka [red-pen-revolution](http://red-pen-revolution.tumblr.com/). I was so happy to receive your prompt! Hope this fills your wishes!
> 
> A huge thank you to [PipMer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer) ([also on Tumblr!](http://pipmer.tumblr.com/)) for their wonderful Beta picking!


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stared. His eyes refused to believe what his hands and body were already telling him. His trousers would not button. This was the second pair he had attempted to pull on this morning, assuming his cleaner had somehow managed to shrink the first pair. He frowned. While the first suit had just been returned from the cleaner, the second had been chosen as it wasn’t part of that batch and he hadn’t wanted to deal with trying on every suit that came back to see which had been shrunk and which hadn’t. Which meant, that,  somehow, in the space of approximately thirty-six hours, presuming no one was attempting to play a ridiculous prank on him, he had clearly gained enough weight to prevent him from closing that last inch and pressing the button home.

 _Perhaps he was bloated._ The errant thought flitted through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Not possible. His suppressants were military grade. He never missed a dose. Besides, bloating had never been one of his pre-heat symptoms.

Ugh. Clearly he had allowed John to feed him too much recently. He just needed to cut back on how often he ate. That was all. Meanwhile, he would simply wear pajamas at home, and if he had to go out, he’d wear a pair of the loose fitting jeans or trousers he kept around for some of his disguises.

***

Sherlock groaned in frustration and attempted to throw the offending shirt across the room.  When it merely fluttered to the ground a few feet away, he stomped over, picked it up, wadded it into a ball and hurled it across the room. The small sense of satisfaction he gained in watching it sail across the room was short lived as he caught sight of his naked torso in the full length mirror. It had been bad enough when his trousers wouldn’t button two days ago. But now his shirts (which, admittedly had always been tight) wouldn’t fit either.

His transport was out of control. No matter how much he told himself not to eat, to ignore the plates of toast John set before him in the mornings, or the cartons of takeout he brought home for dinner; no matter how he reminded himself that eating slowed him down and was clearly having an adverse affect on his transport, something inside him had refused to listen. Some little part of him (he refused to acknowledge that it might be the Omega inside of him) had basked in the fact that _John_ was providing him food. Whenever he ate something John had cooked or bought just for him, a small glow of warmth, not dissimilar to the glow of warmth he felt when John praised his deductions with outbursts of amazing and brilliant, filled his chest. And when John noticed him eating and made approving noises or, worse, smiled at him, that feeling only intensified. He hated it ( _he loved it_ ).

Being unable to find a button-down shirt that would close across his chest was clearly an indication that he was losing the battle with his transport. Looking in the mirror, he raised a hand to his ribs, noting the flesh that had filled in the gaps between them, the softness that had settled around his lower stomach...the weight he’d first noticed in just his hips, thighs and buttocks seemed to be settling elsewhere.

He huffed, turning away from the mirror. He strode to the wardrobe and yanked out a t-shirt. He needed to go shopping.

***

“Sherlock, are you feeling all right?”

John was sitting on the coffee table, leaning over Sherlock's curled figure on the couch. His hand hovered over Sherlock, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from his palm. He couldn't decide what he wanted more-for John's hand to settle on his back, or for John to just go away and leave him alone. After a few long moments, John's hand fell away. Sherlock suppressed a huff of frustration as disappointment surged through his body. This was intolerable.

“I. Do you?” John sighed and Sherlock pictured him running that same hand through his hair. “Look. If you need anything. Or, I don't know-”

Sherlock interrupted with a huff and  lifted his head from the couch, angling his head around. “What I need is to be left alone.”

John's face tightened and then closed off. “Right. Well, then, I’ll just leave you alone.”

John stood and headed for the door, shoulders stiff, back straight. He yanked his jacket off the coat rack and opened the door.

“Where are you going?”

Sherlock hated himself for letting the plaintive question slip out.

John turned and looked at him. Whatever he saw softened his expression.

“To the pub. Mike mentioned he and some mates would be out for the night. Might be late. I've got my phone, though.”

Sherlock swallowed back a protest. Irrationally, he wanted John to stay, to sit on the couch, to take Sherlock in his arms and-no. Sherlock cut that line of thinking off.

“Have fun killing brain cells with Mike. I’m sure the two of you will have a wonderful time reliving your glory days and flirting with simple minded bar floozies!” The last was practically hissed as he hurled himself back around on the couch.

After a moment of silence, John sighed, then left, leaving Sherlock alone to sort through the muddle of emotions and thoughts that were plaguing him.

Soon he was pacing the floor, agitation increasing with each lap around the room. He caught himself pausing by John’s chair, inhaling deeply. His body relaxed and he could feel calm edging in. He felt exhaustion creeping in and decided to give in to his transport, just for now. He was clearly getting nowhere fighting his instincts. Perhaps if he indulged the ridiculous demands of his body, he could appease whatever this was and regain control of his body and mind.  

Decision made, he hurried up the stairs, heading straight for John’s laundry hamper. He dragged out a dirty jumper, bringing it to his face and inhaling John’s scent deeply before reaching in again. He didn’t question why he needed an armful of John’s dirty laundry, merely bundled it in his arms and carried it downstairs, spreading it all over his bed. He made a few adjustments, tucking a few select pieces near his pillow before stripping and dropping down on top of the pile. He pulled his duvet over his head and breathed deep, dragging in deep pulls of John scented air. His last thought before passing out was that he was grateful John was rather unobservant and would likely not notice the missing clothes until washing day, which gave him several days before he would have to return them.

***

Sherlock woke with a low moan, face buried in his pillow (only, there was something that smelled absolutely divine embedded in the material his face was pressed against), hips thrusting against the mattress, seeking friction for his hard cock. He whimpered as a delicious  fluttering occured low in his loins. He had always enjoyed this part of his pre-heat. All the pleasure with none of the desperate, aching, mindless wanting.

Sherlock froze as realization struck. He could no longer pretend his symptoms were anything other than what they were. He was fully in pre-heat. Somehow, his suppressants had failed. Judging by his previous experiences with heats, he had hours at best before he went into full blown heat. What's more, his Omega had clearly selected a mating partner, if finding his face buried in John's soiled pants while rutting against the bed when waking was any indication.

John. John didn't want to mate. He didn't want an Omega. He especially didn’t want a _male_ Omega. And if by some bizarre chance he did, it certainly wouldn’t be Sherlock. Sherlock’s stomach clenched at the thought of John realizing what was happening with Sherlock. He would, of course, be kind and careful, but there was no doubt in Sherlock’s mind that John would reject him if he clued him in and asked him to help him through his heat. Which meant he would just need to make sure John wasn’t aware of just how desperately Sherlock wanted to mate with him.


	3. Chapter 3

_It would be best if you found alternate sleeping arrangements for the next few days. -SH_

_Please tell me you didn't catch the flat on fire._

_I did not catch the flat on fire. -SH_

_Nonetheless, it is best if you stay away.-SH_

Oh. John’s hand clenched and face grimaced as his gut tightened with realization. He had noticed when Sherlock had stopped his suppressants. Of course he had. Two days after their run in with The Woman, Sherlock's scent had started to change. It had been subtle at first, but John, ever attuned to Sherlock, had needed to clench his hands around the edge of the sink to keep from turning and pressing himself against Sherlock and scenting him when Sherlock had first entered the kitchen that morning. While John had always found Sherlock’s scent, faint though it was, pleasing, the smell of Sherlock off suppressants was incredibly arousing and, John had discovered over the next few days, addicting. He found his nostrils flaring without thought, his head turning automatically to seek out the scent whenever Sherlock was near.

Within a week, Sherlock's body had begun to change. His hips had widened, his normally ( _too_ ) lean body  softened in all the right places. On suppressants, Sherlock was gorgeous, no doubt. Off suppressants, his body practically screamed ripe, unbonded, ready to be claimed, filled, and bred. Even more noticeably, he'd been moodier than ever. There had been moments when John was certain Sherlock's Omega side was running the show-moments when he would practically purr with happiness while sitting next to John on the couch, eating takeout and watching movies. Other times, he'd find him curled up on the couch, sullen and unspeaking, practically hissing insults at John when he dared to show concern.

Last night, he’d nearly convinced himself Sherlock didn't know what was going on. There had been a flash of vulnerable uncertainty on his face during the row they'd had (the one that sent John out for a night at the pub with Stamford). But it had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Sherlock had continued to hurl invective at him until he'd finally thrown his hands up and left. After that, he'd reminded himself there was no way Sherlock Holmes of all people was unaware that he'd stopped taking his suppressants. Yes, the man could be incredibly dismissive of things he found unimportant (no matter how important they seemed to others), but seeing as how they were incredibly important in his everyday life, there was no way he'd deleted suppressants or what would happen if he stopped taking them.

The last week and a half had been quite the roller coaster for John. A small part of him had hoped Sherlock had stopped taking suppressants for _him_. That hope only grew every time his Alpha side noticed the Omega behaviors seemingly directed his way: eating the food _he_ provided, wanting to be close to John (they sat closer to one another in the last few days than they ever had before), the noticeable increase in the frequency of touches Sherlock bestowed upon him-from seemingly accidental brushes of skin in passing to actually resting his head on John's shoulder while they watched a movie.

But as the days passed and Sherlock had made no mention of his upcoming heat, John had begun to realize that perhaps Sherlock's Omega side was simply directing this behavior at the nearest convenient ( _safe_ ) Alpha, that perhaps _he_ wasn't the reason Sherlock had gone off suppressants.

Which could only mean one thing. While he hadn't wanted to believe it (his Alpha side snarled at the thought), Sherlock had gone off his suppressants after his encounter with The Woman. The Woman who John had found naked, straddling Sherlock's lap. The Woman who had captured Sherlock's attention in a way John could never hope to. The Woman who texted him constantly, whose sexy moan ringtone had yet to be changed back to Sherlock's usual ringtone.   _She_ was a match for the brilliant detective, physically and intellectually, and clearly Sherlock's Omega agreed.

John swallowed past the painful feelings that caught in his throat-bitter jealousy, eye watering loss, throat tightening rejection-and focused on replying without giving any of his actual thoughts away. It wouldn't do for Sherlock to realize what John had dared to hope, how much it hurt despite how many times over the last months he'd told himself Sherlock was not for him. Somehow, believing Sherlock was not for anyone had made it easier. Now, though...he sighed and let his shoulders slump a moment before breathing deeply and typing out a reply.

_Can't you go to hers?_

_?-SH_

_Certainly had more room. And privacy. Not to mention the built in playroom._

There was the slightest of delays during which John hoped Sherlock was seeing the wisdom of his suggestion.

_You are implying I will spend my heat with The Woman. -SH_

_I may not be a genius, but even I can observe that you stopped taking suppressants the day after you met her._

_I did not stop taking them. Someone tampered with them. -SH_

_What did you observe that made you think I stopped the day after we met her? -SH_

_What do you mean, tampered with them?_

_And your scent began to change almost immediately. And then, of course you began to fill out, and you were behaving differently._

John knew better than to call Sherlock's behavior over the last week mood swings.

_Are you saying you didn't know? What did you think was happening?! Did you delete Omega mating behavior?_

_Someone replaced my packet of suppressants with placebos. I have tested a pill from the packet. It was a sugar pill, made to replicate my pills exactly. -SH_

John's stomach dropped. Sherlock’s pills had been tampered with. Someone meant to induce a heat in him, meant to leave him vulnerable to violation of the worst sort.

John stood and left his office without thinking. He didn’t even stop to notify the desk nurse that he was leaving. Once outside, the fresh air brought a moment of clarity. He couldn't just rush back to Baker Street. What if Sherlock was entering full heat? As an Alpha, it would be difficult to resist an Omega in heat. As an Alpha who was in love with that Omega, who dreamed about what it would be like to one day claim that Omega far too regularly, despite knowing that Omega had no interest in being claimed, much less by him...well that might be damn near impossible. John wasn't willing to risk it.

_How long until full heat?_

_Based on symptoms, I have until morning at the outset. -SH_

John's shoulders relaxed. They still had time. Time to make sure Sherlock was safe. Gather supplies.

_Do not leave the flat._

John's Alpha side was chomping at the bit, urging him to hurry home, to scent their Omega, to claim him before anyone else could. But John resisted. Sherlock wasn't his. He hadn't chosen to go into heat. He didn't want to be claimed by John.  

John’s job was to secure Sherlock's safety, make sure whoever had done this would not get to him. Beyond that, he needed to make sure Sherlock was stocked up on supplies: bottles of water, easy to prepare foods, emergency contraception (just in case the worst happened-if whoever did this somehow got to him, John wanted to lower their chances of impregnating Sherlock), heat aids to ease the urge to mate.

Having given himself a list of priorities, he sent a message to Mycroft.

_221 B potentially compromised. Security requested immediately. NO ALPHAS. No one enters flat unless immediate danger presents._

John wasn't surprised when his phone rang almost immediately. He hailed a cab as he answered.

“Mycroft.”

“Not quite the happy announcement I was expecting.” Mycroft's voice somehow managed to convey both annoyance and an expectation of explanation.

John sighed. “Someone replaced Sherlock's suppressants with sugar pills. He didn't recognize the symptoms for what they were until it was too late.” John didn't mention that he had assumed Sherlock had chosen to stop taking them, or that he had thought he'd done so for The Woman. “Ideally, we need to secure 221B against whomever it is.” It was always best for an Omega to endure their heat at home. “If that's not possible, we need to move him to a secure location immediately.”

“And yourself?”

“I am on my way home. I am stopping to pick up supplies. I’m hoping he will have some ideas about who did this. The more we know, the better we can prepare. I'll make sure he takes some E-Con and batten down the hatches. But I have to be quick. He thinks he'll be full blown by morning, but given how quickly his other symptoms arrived, I don’t want to take too long.”

There was a long pause.

“Doctor Watson, I think it best if you return to Baker Street straight away. I will ensure the appropriate supplies are delivered with all due haste. It would be for the best for you to secure 221B and prepare my brother for his upcoming heat.”

John was relieved and grateful. He gave his agreement to Mycroft and hopped in the cab that had pulled up to the curb, giving the driver the address at Baker Street and sitting back tensely, unable to relax even as he headed home.

_***_

John took the stairs at Baker Street two at a time. He stopped short at finding Sherlock seated at the table, looking through the microscope lens.

“Sherlock!” John tried and failed to keep the flood of emotions from his voice.

“John.” Sherlock acknowledged John's entrance with a flick of the eyes.

“Shouldn't you be-”

John stalled out. When it was clear he wasn't going to finish the question, Sherlock looked up.

“Be what?”

John shrugged. He hadn't really known where that thought was going.

Sherlock frowned at him.

“Why are you here? Come to lecture me about letting myself get in this predicament?”

Sherlock’s voice was at once sharp and wary. His face was implacable, but his shoulders were hunched. Now that John was calming down, he could see the toll the situation was taking on Sherlock.

John held his hands up placatingly.

“No lecture. I came home to make sure you were safe and have everything you need. Mycroft's sending supplies, and will install a security detail outside.”

“You called Mycroft?!” Sherlock's voice was filled with disgust and betrayal.

John met and held his accusing glare with his own hard stare. “I'd do it again, in a heartbeat. Someone wants to hurt you. I will do anything. Anything. To keep you safe.”

Sherlock had no reply for John, so he continued.

“I’m going to check the windows, make sure everything is locked tight.”

John started towards Sherlock’s bedroom, only to be stopped by the man himself jumping up and standing between John and the room.

“Why this sudden concern with security?”

“Someone tampered with your suppressants! The only possible reason for someone to do that is because they want to catch you unaware and have you! I won’t let them!”

John hadn’t meant to share the last sentiment, but he stood his ground, certain he could still pretend it was only concern for Sherlock’s safety that drove his actions.

Sherlock frowned. “You think someone tampered with my suppressants so they could _have_ me?”

John snorted. “Of course I do! What other possible reason could someone want you to go off suppressants without realizing?”

Sherlock stiffened even further. “Clearly whoever it was intended to leave me unable to think, a slave to my body’s needs for several days. The most obvious reason is because they wish to commit a crime that they don’t want me to catch wind of and solve.”

John just stared. After a few moments, Sherlock shifted on his feet, unable to correctly interpret John’s reaction and uncomfortable with feeling like he had missed something vital. Finally, John shook his head.

“No. If someone merely wanted you out of the way, they could have come up with any number of ways they could have incapacitated you for a week, or longer.” John stepped closer. “This, this is about you.” He stepped closer still. “About leaving you vulnerable and unable to say no while they took you and used you and I won’t let that happen!”

John was now standing inches from Sherlock, face hard, hands clenching.

“But who would possible want to do- _that_ -with me?”

John was flabbergasted at the absolute confusion on Sherlock’s face and in his voice.

“How about every damn Alpha you ever come in contact with? And at least half the Betas and even some of the Omegas! Dimmock practically leaves puddles of slick wherever he stands when you’re nearby. Hell, I’m pretty sure Moriarty was only half faking the whole gay thing! And that Woman clearly wanted to be the Alpha that got to claim the great Sherlock Holmes!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, you clot! You could have any of them over here with just a text. And that was before your body decided to start sending out mating signals left and right!”

“But I don’t want to mate with any of them! I just want you!”

***

Sherlock froze. Oh God. He hadn't meant for John to find out. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable rejection.

“You want to mate with me.”

John's voice was breathless. If Sherlock didn't know better, he'd believe it was full of hope.

When he didn’t respond to John's question, John stepped closer. Sherlock held his breath, waiting for John's rejection. No doubt he would try to be kind, which somehow only made it worse.

He flinched as John's warm palm settled against his cheek. Unbidden, his nostrils flared, taking in deep the scent of John. Gun oil. …...and a refreshing, clean lemony smell that had always appealed to Sherlock (even John's scent was different than other Alphas, who usually were so heavily musky that they made Sherlock's head ache).

“Sherlock.” John's voice was soft. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

Sherlock’s eyes popped open at the endearment.

“I will happily spend your heat with you. But are you sure it's what you want?”

Sherlock heard the underlying worry. He could practically hear the unasked question, John's actual concern: was this just the hormones talking? He forced himself to hold John’s gaze.

“I do. I want this. With you.”

So saying, he gathered his courage, leaned forward and pressed his mouth to John's, lips resting against lips for the space of a few heartbeats.

He drew back, heart racing, eyes wide.

John made a noise in his throat, and then Sherlock felt the hand on his face slide to the back of his head, drawing him forward inexorably. And then John was kissing him.

It was nothing like Sherlock had imagined their first kiss to be. He’d always imagined them falling together in the heat of the moment, pressed against a wall at the end of a case, or John kissing him passionately after a close encounter with a criminal. When he had allowed himself to consider it, he'd never imagined their first kiss to be this soft.

John’s hand cradled his head oh so carefully, his lips brushing against Sherlock’s as if he were made of something incredibly fragile and delicate. Only after Sherlock's body relaxed against his did he press slightly firmer, the tip of his tongue skimming the seam of Sherlock's lips. When Sherlock’s lips parted, John began taking short sipping kisses that pulled Sherlock's lower lip between his own. Every so often, his tongue would slip into Sherlock's mouth, fluttering against the roof of his mouth just behind his teeth or sliding sinuously against Sherlock’s tongue, teasing rather than claiming.

Sherlock found himself responding, mimicking John’s movements. Just when he felt he was getting the hang of it, sliding his own tongue against John’s and then stroking just the tip against the roof of John's mouth, John groaned low and deep. John’s other arm came around Sherlock's waist, pulling them together tightly. Sherlock was embarrassingly aware of how the hard length of his arousal pressed against John's belly. After a moment he realized John was in a similar state; his much larger Alpha cock was pressed long and hard against Sherlock's thigh.

Arousal tightened his stomach as John deepened the kiss. John’s mouth was pressing harder against his, tongue sweeping into Sherlock's mouth, the hand at Sherlock's nape holding him firmly in place. As John drew back, he tugged Sherlock's lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently before pulling away, still holding Sherlock's body tightly to his own.

Sherlock was grateful John was holding him so carefully. His knees were weak, his legs shaky. He was quite certain he would have slid to the floor at John's feet without his support. They stood there, Sherlock's breath puffing across John’s ear, John’s breath humid against Sherlock's neck.

After what could have been mere moments or much longer, John stepped back. Sherlock straightened, chewing his lip as he waited for John's next move. Having no experience in this area, he was relying on John to lead him through this.

“Okay. Okay. We can't do this.”

Sherlock’s heart plummeted. Of course. John didn't want this. He could never want someone like Sherlock. An Omega who was practically the antithesis of the ideal. John had tried, had given Sherlock a chance, and he’d blown it with his obvious inexperience.

“There’s still so much to do. I'm sorry. You don't need me pawing at you. You need to eat, to rest. I should be checking the locks, taking care of you, preparing a nest…”

Sherlock's mind caught on nest. John was talking about making a nest. He pulled himself from his distressed thoughts and replayed what John had just said. Suddenly, a grin split his face, causing John to stop his rambling.

“Are you even listening?”

Sherlock didn't bother to respond. He was elated. John was going to mate with him. John was working himself up, worried about preparing everything in time.

“John.”

John stopped.

“Mycroft's minions have brought everything we could possibly need, I'm sure.”

“They haven’t even been round yet.”

“Someone left several bags out on the landing while we were otherwise occupied,” Sherlock stated with a blush.

John rushed to the door, glaring down the stairs before grabbing the bags and hauling them to the table. He then turned back to the door, shutting and locking it before returning to the bags and digging through them. He pulled out a packet of medication, opening it and popping a couple of pills out of the blister packaging.

Sherlock watched silently, knowing John would clue him in when he was ready.

“Take these. Emergency Contraceptive. Not as good as the pill, but the best we can do to prevent pregnancy this late in the game.”

Sherlock took the pills and swallowed them dry, only hesitating for a fraction of a second as his Omega side declared that it wanted to mate, bond, breed. But obviously John did not want to breed, so Sherlock swallowed the pills.

“Right. We need to get ready, bring supplies to your room, make a nest…” John’s voice trailed off as Sherlock placed his hand on John’s arm, stilling his movements.

“I've already made a nest.”

Sherlock’s hand slid down John’s arm, clasping his hand and tugging. John allowed himself to be dragged down the hall to Sherlock’s room by the nervous Omega. When they reached the doorway, Sherlock stopped and shot a glance at John before opening the door and stepping to the side.

John stepped into the room and towards the bed. Sherlock had pilfered John's bedding during the day, mixing it in with his own and the clothes he had borrowed the night before. The result was a bed piled high with pillows, blankets and clothing heaped in a jumble on the bed, with one soft duvet (Sherlock's) turned back to reveal it all. The bed smelled divinely of them, a tantalizing hint of how it would be if they actually bonded, and John allowed himself a moment to breathe it in.

Sherlock still hovered in the doorway, still fidgeting nervously. John turned to him with a smile, beckoning him closer.

“This is perfect.” he said, drawing the Omega closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re not upset about my using your things?” Sherlock was watching John from the side of his eyes.

“Upset? No. Incredibly turned on? Absolutely! I’m having a hard time reminding myself why I shouldn't just throw you on top of the bed and fuck you into the mattress right now.”

A blush spread from Sherlock’s neck to his face at John’s words, and he turned to face him.

“What.” he paused, swallowed. “What happens now?”

“Now, you climb into that lovely nest and make yourself comfortable. I am going to get a few supplies in here. Then you need to sleep.”

“Oh.”

“No, don’t look like that. Whether you want to or not, your body is going to demand lots of sleep over the next few days. Heat sex takes an incredible amount of energy. Your body needs to rest between rounds. Until you are in full blown heat, we are going to snuggle and rest.”

Sherlock perked up when he realized John would be joining him for the night. He clambered up into the bed, intending to wait for John to join him before he gave in to sleep. But being surrounded by the smell of himself and John, knowing that his Alpha was here and making preparations for his heat, relaxation stole over his body and mind, and soon he was sleeping, one of John’s jumpers tucked up to his face and held in place by his arm, body curled on his side, facing the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock woke with a whimper, lower back and backside throbbing, cock hard and aching. He inhaled deeply, humming in pleasure as he picked up on John's scent, close and warm in the air.

He rolled towards John, hooking his leg over John's waist, pressing his face to John's neck. His hips began rutting his cock against John through their pajamas. Sherlock's own pajamas were wet with slick, which was seeping from his entrance.

“Jooohhnnn!”

John came awake as only a soldier could, instantly alert. His arms came up to wrap around Sherlock and he rolled them over, pinning Sherlock under him safely even as he scanned the room for danger. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as Sherlock's scent hit him.

Warm dripping honey. Vanilla. Something sweet that reminded him of sugar floss. _Sherlock._

John dropped his head to Sherlock's neck, scenting him deeply.

“Mine.”

Sherlock's already dilated pupils darkened further at John’s possessive growl. His legs spread wide, welcoming John's hard body against his own.

“Yes. Alpha. Yours.”

John’s nose encountered the collar of Sherlock's t-shirt. He sat back, then lifted Sherlock by the shoulders. He tugged at the hem of Sherlock's shirt, drawing it up quickly.

“Off, “ he commanded, helping Sherlock's shaking hands to remove shirt and bottoms. Sherlock hadn't worn pants, his skin had felt entirely too sensitive for them the night before.

As soon as Sherlock was naked, John pounced.

He began scenting Sherlock again, mouth and nose trailing against his heated skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. When he reached Sherlock's nipples, he latched onto one and began circling the other with his thumb.

Sherlock cried out, back arching as he clutched John's hair, holding him in place against his chest. He felt each suckling pull on his nipple echoed deep within, a throbbing pleasure that left him whimpering and wet.

John growled in satisfaction at Sherlock's obvious pleasure. Once he had paid tribute to each nipple, he moved down Sherlock's body again, his own hips grinding his rock hard erection against the bed as he neared the source of the delicious smell emanating from the Omega.

Sherlock’s legs splayed open, inviting his Alpha to scent him, touch him, take him. His cock lay flat against his stomach, long, straight and pink. Omegas had no pubic hair here, and John gave an appreciative lick along Sherlock's seam, which began just behind his high, tight balls and traversed the length of his perfect pink cock.

“J-j-ooohhhnnn!” Sherlock cried out desperately, hips thrusting into the air.

“Mmmm….” John rumbled, sucking just the tip of Sherlock's cock, tasting his precum.

John's left hand steadied Sherlock's hips, holding him gently but firmly in place, while his right hand slid down and back. His fingers slid through the slickness seeping from Sherlock's hole, then he carefully slid one finger into him. When it slid in easily, he pulled back and added another, then another.

He pulled off of Sherlock's cock, looking up to find his shoulders arched, head thrown back and thrashing against the bed, one hand stuffed against his mouth, stifling his cries. John growled and pulled the offending arm away.

“I want to hear your pleasure, Omega. I want to hear you whimper and moan and cry out. I want to hear you beg and scream and shout.”

Sherlock let out a long low moan at John's words.

“You are ready. Front or back?”

John’s Alpha was screaming at him to mount his Omega and claim him. His own pleasure was driven ever higher at seeing Sherlock practically writhing in pleasure.

Sherlock met and held John's gaze as he reached up, wrapping arms and legs around his Alpha.

“Like this. Please!” he urged John closer, attempting to grind against John despite John's pajama bottoms impeding his goal.

John swore and pulled back as far as Sherlock's grasping arms and legs would allow. He had just enough room to maneuver the elastic waistband of his sleep trousers down, his heavy Alpha cock springing loose to jut out between them.

Sherlock was too far gone to stop and appreciate John's prick. Instead he pulled John close again demandingly, back arching and hands clutching at John's arse in an attempt to drive him where he wanted (needed) him.

John lifted Sherlock's leg and tilted his face down just long enough to watch as he fed the tip of his cock into Sherlock's hole.

Sherlock gasped as John slid inexorably home, impossibly hot and long and thick, filling him until he thought there was no more room, and then still more. He cried out in pleasure as John brushed against a bundle of nerves on his inner wall, a sort of secondary prostate that Omegas had, sending sparks of pleasure shooting to his extremities.

John paused for a moment when he was fully seated, taking a moment to kiss Sherlock's chest, neck, chin.

“Mine.” he rumbled, nipping at Sherlock's scent gland.

Sherlock shivered and tilted his head.

“Yessss. Yours.”

John began rocking into him, slowly at first but quickening the pace steadily until he was practically pounding Sherlock into the sheets. Sherlock was whimpering and clinging tightly to John,who was huffing little pleased groans on every thrust.

Sherlock's legs wrapped impossibly tighter as his nails dug into John's glutes.

“John! John! Alpha! I need-!”

John looked down at Sherlock, who was staring up at him in desperate pleasure. He smirked as he struck that bundle of nerves again, angling his hips forward and circling so that he was no longer thrusting but grinding, causing his cock to circle against that pleasure inducing spot. He knew what his Omega needed. He could feel his knot beginning to swell, responding to Sherlock's hormones as he neared climax.

John buried his face against Sherlock's neck, mouthing at his scent gland, releasing a mouth watering burst of hormones. His knot swelled, locking him in place inside the Omega. At the same time, he took Sherlock's cock in hand and stroked hard and fast.

“John! Yes! Yes! Oh! Joooohhhhn!”

Sherlock babbled on as he tipped over the edge, his orgasm spraying ejaculate over John's hand and Sherlock's stomach even as inside his muscles began to milk John's cock.

John shouted Sherlock's name as he was brought over the edge, releasing a flood of semen into Sherlock.

After what felt like an eternity of bliss, John came back to his senses, just in time to feel himself release another flood of semen into his Omega.

“John?”

Sherlock's voice was quiet, sleepy.

“Yes, love?”

“How long are we stuck?”

“Mmm...probably quarter hour or so…”

“‘Kay.” Sherlock’s eyes drifted closed as he gave into the biological imperative to rest.

***

Sherlock tilted his head back and moaned as he seated himself on John's cock. John's hands on his hips guided him forward and back, eliciting another moan as he caught on to the motion. Soon he was rocking back and forth, hands braced on John's chest as his hips rolled. John reached up with both hands to play with his nipples, rolling and tweaking them gently. Sherlock loved the way his inner muscles clamped around John's cock as he rolled his hips, pleasure building in slow inexorable waves.

He found himself caught by John's eyes, unable to look away from John's face. John's expression held possessiveness, lust and pleasure. But also, wonder and awe and something, something that made Sherlock's chest ache and added a sweet edge to his pleasure.

He leaned forward, needing to kiss John. He reached his target, slipping his tongue into John's mouth as he continued to ride him, thighs spreading as he pressed his body down against John's.

John moaned into the kiss, hands sliding up from Sherlock's hips, one settling low against his back, the other at his nape. Sherlock's cock slid between their bodies, smearing precum.

John's hand drifted from his lower back to his hip, then slid slowly, teasingly towards his cock. When he finally wrapped his hand around it, Sherlock gasped and his hips stuttered. He began grinding on John's cock in earnest, feeling his orgasm rushing on. John's knot was starting to swell, teasing his rim with every pass.

Sherlock sat up again, angling himself to better take the knot, needing it fully inside of him, locking John in him as they achieved orgasm. He caught John's eyes again, wanting to watch as pleasure overtook him

“Gorgeous. Fuck. Sherlock, you are so. Fucking. Gorgeous.”

John thrust up hard with every pause. The motion sent the pleasure in Sherlock's body spiking and the words sent him over the edge. His cock twitched and spilled in John's hand, and his back arched, seating John fully inside if him. John thrust a few more times even as Sherlock collapsed against his chest, and then his knot locked him in place as he too spilled.

Sherlocked hummed against John's neck as he felt the pulse of John's release deep inside him. John collapsed back against the bed, entirely relaxed underneath Sherlock. Eventually he stirred enough to press a kiss to Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock smiled against John, breathing deeply and dragging in his scent. In moments, he drifted off to sleep again.

***

“John!”

Sherlock's shocked voice echoed in the bathroom, sounding out over the sound of the shower. John had insisted he take a hot shower this morning, claiming it would help ease the aching soreness in his body. It was one more thing in a long line of unexpected behaviors from John he had never expected from an Alpha during heat.

Between bouts of sex, John had cleaned him up, fed him, even given him a massage at one point (of course, that had ended in a rather lazy round of sex with John spooned behind him and Sherlock's leg thrown over John's). And now-

Now John had his face buried in Sherlock's arse. He had climbed into the shower with Sherlock and washed him up. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time lathering Sherlock's hair, leaving Sherlock practically boneless against him before soaping up his body. After he had rinsed Sherlock off, he'd begun scenting him.

Sherlock had felt another round of hormones spiking, slick trickling down his thigh as John traced over his neck with his nose, then his tongue. And then John had dropped to his knees and traced the slick up Sherlock's thigh to its source, tongue probing his entrance insistently.

Sherlock’s chest heaved as John fluttered the tip of his tongue against Sherlock's hole, the motion causing his muscles to flutter in response. John hummed in approval and Sherlock whimpered against his arms, which pillowed his head against the tiles.

John pressed Sherlock's cheeks apart with his hands and pressed his face closer, mouth opening wider as his tongue thrust deep. He wriggled it inside Sherlock, who whimpered and arched his back, pressing back in a demand for more.

John continued to lick and lave, grunting in pleasure at the delicious taste of Sherlock's slick. Soon Sherlock was begging to be filled, needing much more than John's tongue to fill the ache within.

John stood and turned Sherlock around, lifting his legs to wrap around John's waist. John lined them up and thrust home, pressing Sherlock against the shower wall. He established a quick pace, arms sliding under Sherlock's legs to gain better leverage.

Sherlock wound his arms around John's neck, leaning back, seeking the right angle. He was whimpering in time to John's thrusts, head tilted back, eyes closed.

John picked up the pace, growling curse words as he chased his pleasure. Suddenly he bent his knees and grasped Sherlock's legs, shoving up so they rested impossibly higher, opening Sherlock completely to his mercy.

Sherlock wailed in pleasure as John drove deep and hard. His hands rose to the wall behind him as his back arched. He could only hold himself in place as John quickened his pace, driving them both hard and fast to the edge.

Sherlock was gasping in pleasure, head dropping back and eyes falling shut. He was so close. He just needed-

His mind blanked and he came hard as John’s wet hand wrapped around his cock as his mouth settled on his neck, sucking hard on his scent gland.

John swore as he found himself struggling to hold a limp Sherlock as his own body orgasmed, knot locking him inside of Sherlock even as the Omega slid boneless against the shower wall. He braced them in place, waiting patiently for his blissed out lover to recover enough to hold on tightly before carrying him to bed, not bothering with towels.


	5. Chapter 5

John worked his way up Sherlock's body. He had just sucked the Omega off, and wanted to snog a bit before leaving him in bed to make tea and toast. When he finally moved from Sherlock's neck to nuzzle his chin and then cheeks, he froze in surprise. Salty tracks marked Sherlock's face, giving away the fact that he had been crying. John pulled back, trying to meet Sherlock's eyes, a goal that was made impossible by Sherlock's refusal to look back.

“Sherlock? What's wrong, love?”

At John's question, a whimpering sob burst forth from Sherlock's lips, quickly caught and swallowed back.

John scrambled to sit up, needing to comfort his Omega. He gathered Sherlock's unresisting body against his chest, hand carding through his curls as he shushed the Omega, holding him close but not too tight.

Finally Sherlock's sobs quieted, and he lifted his head, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He tried to pull away, but John wouldn't let go. After a moment, he settled against John's chest again, still avoiding eye contact.

“Please tell me what's wrong.” John's voice was thick with hurt. Sherlock was upset and he didn't know why; he just knew he needed to fix it.

“Just stupid Omega hormones.” Sherlock's voice attempted disdain, but grief and a touch of fear still came through loud and clear to John, who had made a point to learn to read the nuances of Sherlock.

“Mmm...anything in particular setting those hormones off?”

Sherlock was silent for so long, John thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he felt more than heard a mumbled response pressed to his neck.

“Eavntbndead.”

“Sorry. What was that?”

Sherlock pulled away slightly, still not meeting his eyes.

“We haven't bonded,” Sherlock whispered. That seemed to shake him from his quietude, and suddenly he was glaring at John accusingly. “We have fucked countless times over the last several days. You called me pet names, took care of me as if I am precious to you, mmmmade loovve to me-”Sherlock's voice cracked and he looked away, drawing a deep breath before continuing. “And now it's over and we didn't bond. That is what these stupid tears are about!”

Sherlock pulled back, clearly intending to flee. John's hand snapped out, grasping Sherlock's wrist and dragging him back before rolling both of them so Sherlock was pinned beneath him.

“You want to bond with me?”

Sherlock glared. “Obviously. I believe that was implied when I admitted to wanting to mate with you.”

John's eyebrows rose. “Oh, it was implied all right. And I had every intention of bonding with you as soon as I could.”

“Oh, really?” Sherlock cut John off. “ Then why haven't you?” By the end of the question, his voice was less derisive and more waveringly vulnerable. He swallowed hard and looked away.

“You really must have deleted mating behavior from that great bloody mind of yours! An Alpha does not initiate bonding unless they are forcing a bond! You haven't presented once during heat, Sherlock, and I would never. Never. Force a bond on you.”

Sherlock's eyes shot to John's. John could practically see him accessing his mind palace, digging through information he deemed useless to find the relevant details about bonding and presenting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Sherlock suddenly grinned up at John.

“You want to bond with me.”

“More than anything.”

They locked gazes, smiling like saps at one another. Then Sherlock's face fell.

“But it's too late. My heat is over.”

John snorted.

“Wrong again. You've got another round left.”

“But it's been hours. And I can feel the hormones receding. I'm still horny, but I'm not dying to be fucked.”

“Mmm...it has been hours. But I can smell you; I'd say another half an hour before we have another go round. Was planning to feed you up a bit first.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck.

“I can think of something better to put in my mouth.”

John growled and dove in to press a hard kiss on Sherlock’s lips, thoughts of breakfast vanishing as his cock hardened at the naughty words whispered so daringly at him.

***

Sherlock felt the ache in his backside cresting again. John had come flatteringly quickly once Sherlock had wrapped his lips around his cock, and they had been resting comfortably against the pillows since. He sat up, pushing at John.

“Up. Up. Come on!”

He barely waited long enough for John to sit up before dropping to all fours, looking over his shoulder as he bent his arms and lowered his head, shaking his arse in John’s direction. He smirked as John’s eyes widened then darkened, a rumbling growl emanating from his chest as he lunged for Sherlock.

Sherlock felt slick gush down his thigh as John draped over his back; hot, hard cock pressed between his cheeks, arms bracketing his own, face pressing against Sherlock's spine. His hot breath puffed out in bursts, his chest heaving against Sherlock’s back as John struggled to retain control. That wouldn’t do. Sherlock wanted John to claim him, to take him, to own him. He circled his hips as he pressed back, letting loose a long moan.

“Alpha.” he gasped. “Bite me. Bond me. Breed me.”

John growled and then suddenly he was filling Sherlock, hands on his hips holding him still as he filled him completely. John began thrusting, growling a warning when Sherlock tried to rise up and look back. Sherlock dropped low again, pleasure filling his body and his chest as he realized John was being driven purely by instinct, his Alpha side taking over.

He whimpered as John picked up the pace, using his knees to spread Sherlock’s legs wider, allowing him to thrust deeper and harder. They wouldn’t last long at this rate, but Sherlock didn’t care. That only meant he would be claimed all the sooner. His head tilted to the side, inviting John to scent, claim, mark.

Sherlock gasped as John hauled him up with an arm across his chest, his other hand coming up to tug Sherlock’s head back by his curls, not unkindly but definitely with more force than he’d used before. Sherlock’s scent gland was exposed completely, and he felt John’s tongue press against it, wet and hot.

John nibbled and sucked, causing the gland to swell in anticipation of the bond bite. Sherlock was shaking with need, nearly there but unable to come yet. The position kept him on edge, at John’s mercy entirely. And then John bit down, hard, thrusting deep and shoving his knot past Sherlock’s rim. Sherlock shouted as he came suddenly, pain and pleasure mingling as John clamped down on his neck, claiming him forever as _his_ Omega.

John held him close against his chest as they came down from the rush, licking at his neck while a low rumble of pleasure emanated from his chest. After a while, he pulled back enough to tilt them on their sides, spooning up behind Sherlock and wrapping his arm tightly across his chest, burying his face in Sherlock’s nape as they drifted off.

Sherlock had enough clarity of mind to realize their lives had just changed forever. He was now a bonded Omega. They couldn’t just change the sheets and pretend this never happened. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He was John’s Omega. But more importantly, John was _Sherlock’s_ Alpha.

***

Sherlock woke slowly, eyes bleary in the early afternoon sunlight. He sat up, breathing slowly as a wave of nausea hit. Ugh. His stupid hormones were still toying with his transport.

It had been weeks since his heat, and he was still dealing with the after effects of the hormonal roller coaster. In the days after his heat, he’d been ridiculously clingy and needy, wanting John nearby at all times. John had reassured him that this was normal Omega behavior after bonding; it was the reason bond leave existed. A newly bonded couple needed to stay close and stay home, to allow their bond time to strengthen before exposing themselves to the outside world. They had taken advantage of the time off work to move John into Sherlock’s room and reaffirm the bond (mostly by having lots of sex, all over the flat).

But the bonding period had ended nearly two weeks ago. While the clinginess had abated (mostly), Sherlock was still experiencing hormonal fluctuations. One minute he was happily solving a case, the next he was snapping at John for breathing wrong, the next he was crying because he just _knew_ John hated him for being such a terrible Omega and trapping him into a bond. And he was tired all the time. Hence, the nap on the couch.

Ugh. This had to end. John had told him that now that the bonding period was over, he could safely start his suppressants again, if he wanted. He had thought he might not want to, but this was intolerable. He would start them again, today. He just needed to find the packet John had picked up from the pharmacy for him to replace the placebo pack. Which reminded him, he needed to work out who had replaced his suppressants, and more importantly, why. Which made it all the more important that he get his transport back under control.

***

Sherlock groaned as he sat back. It had been nearly a week since he had decided to go back on suppressants, but it appeared his body disagreed with his decision. Every time he tried to take a pill, he became violently ill and emptied the contents of his stomach. Worse, now the nausea was present most mornings, and occasionally took hold at seemingly random moments: when he sat up too quickly, when an unpleasant smell wafted through the air, once when John had kissed him with coffee breath. John had started stocking bottles of water and crackers next to the bed, along with a large bowl, in case he didn’t make it to the bathroom in time. He’d also taken care to always change and bathe when he got home, brushing his teeth before coming near the Omega. This was awful. Sherlock wondered if being newly bonded somehow made him susceptible to germs. It would make sense for a newly bonded couple to need to stay away from others if bonding somehow compromised the immune system. Perhaps John had gone back to work too early, and now Sherlock was suffering the consequences. He vowed to give John an earful when he got home. He would demand that John stop going to work, and stay home and take care of him. But first, he needed a nap. Sherlock curled up on the floor mat in the bathroom, eyes drifting shut as he allowed the coolness of the bathroom to soothe his overheated body.

***

Sherlock gasped as John’s hand drifted across his pectoral. He had noticed recently that his nipples had become sensitive, even slightly swollen. What once would have been a teasingly pleasant caress now felt like a torturously painful grope. He winced as John’s hand passed over his nipple again, shooting painful sparks across his chest. He pulled away.

John stopped, looking him over in concern.

“Okay?”

“Just a bit sore.”

“Hmm….how about a nice warm bath, and maybe we can try a hot compress?”

Sherlock frowned. On the one hand, he really didn’t want to put any pressure on his poor nipples. On the other, John was a doctor, who no doubt knew how to deal with all sorts of bodily malfunctions. He nodded.

“All right. But only if you join me in the bath.” He gave John a mischievous smile as he let his hand drift down, caressing John through his pajama bottoms and making it clear that while his nipples may not be available for sex, the rest of him still was.

***

Sherlock stared at the little stick. Two lines. Two stupid pink little lines were going to ruin everything. The lines wavered as his eyes watered.

Oh, this was worse than somehow not realizing he was going into heat. At least John had _wanted_ to bond with him.

But John had made it very clear he didn’t want to breed, to make a child with Sherlock. Why would he? Sherlock was just an ex junkie sociopath who had tricked John with hormones and trapped him in a bond that he’d never shown any indication of wanting before.

Sherlock felt numbness creeping over him. This was it. John would leave. He would take one look at that stupid stick and storm out, never looking back.

How could he have been so foolish as to believe this could last?

***

John forced himself not to rush up the stairs. He was constantly reminding himself not to smother Sherlock, not to treat him like some fragile, delicate thing that needed coddling, despite his Alpha side’s urgings to care for the Omega, to see to his every need, to make sure he was safe and comfortable, well fed and well loved.

He entered the flat, setting the takeout he’d picked up on the kitchen table after he toed off his shoes by the door. He listened for sounds of Sherlock, grateful relief filling him when he didn’t hear sounds of Sherlock being ill in the bathroom. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been already. But the morning sickness seemed to have passed, for the most part. In fact, Sherlock’s appetite had picked up a bit. Well, picked up for him. Still wasn’t eating enough, as far as John was concerned, but at least he was eating regularly.

“Sherlock! I’m home. I’ve brought takeout from that Indian hole in the wall two blocks over.”

He heard Sherlock leave the bedroom and come down the hall as he pulled plates and silverware out, setting them on the table before turning to face Sherlock.

John frowned as he took in the set of Sherlock's shoulders, the way his arms crossed his chest, the downward tilt of his chin.

“Sherlock?”

Suddenly Sherlock rushed forward, wrapping John in his arms as he pressed a hungry, desperate kiss to John’s lips. John responded by wrapping his arms around Sherlock, returning his kiss and pressing their bodies together. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to snog his gorgeous mate.

Just as suddenly as he’d begun, Sherlock pulled back and stepped away several steps before turning to face John. His shoulders squared off and his chin tilted upward, but he didn’t meet John’s eyes.

John’s stomach clenched. Something was clearly wrong. He scanned Sherlock’s form, looking for clues as to what the problem could be. His eyes came to rest on the plastic stick in Sherlock’s left hand. When Sherlock realized what he was looking at, he thrust the piece of plastic at John.

John took it and glanced at it briefly before looking back at Sherlock.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock finally met John’s eyes. John’s heart dropped at the fear and resignation in Sherlock’s face, the despair in his eyes. Clearly this was not happy news for the Omega.

“Oh, love. I am so sorry. I should have realized you didn't know. ”

John wanted to take Sherlock in his arms, to comfort and reassure him. But he wasn’t sure Sherlock would welcome him at the moment.

“I would have told you if I’d realized. I didn't mean to hide it from you. I know you didn't want any of this, but I would never deliberately keep something this important from you.”

Sherlock's eyes widened. He stood there, blinking at John for what felt like an eternity. John waited anxiously, guilt eating away at him. He had known Sherlock wouldn't want a baby. It would be a constant reminder of how he’d been forced into a heat, how he’d been violated. Sherlock certainly didn’t show signs of regretting bonding with John (quite the opposite, in fact, he’d proudly displayed his bond bite at every opportunity since their bonding period had ended, and was quite enthusiastic about having sex, even when working cases, claiming orgasm was an excellent way to wipe his mind of all but the necessary details). But a baby was a different kind of commitment altogether.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sherlock seemed to come back online. He took a deep breath, eyes focusing in on John’s.

“You knew?”

John nodded.

“Then why haven’t you left?”

Sherlock seemed truly confused. In turn, John was confused by the question, or rather by the seeming assumption behind the question that he would leave if he knew Sherlock was pregnant.

“Why would I leave?”

“Because you don’t want a baby!”

“Says who?!”

“You! You made me take contraceptives! You don’t want to have a baby with me!” Sherlock’s voice hitched at the end of his declaration.

At that, John couldn’t resist anymore. He stepped forward, pulling the Omega into his arms, one arm at his back, one behind his head, guiding him to John’s neck. The hand on his back rubbed soothing circles, the one at his nape began combing through the hair there.

“Oh, no, love. You’ve got it wrong. I am over the moon about having a baby with you.”

He continued murmuring reassurances, allowing Sherlock to scent him as he did so. Soon the tension eased from Sherlock's frame, and he murmured something into John's neck.

“What was that, love?”

“Why the contraceptives, then?”

John tilted Sherlock's head so he was holding his gaze.

“I didn't want you to feel forced into this too.” He took a deep breath. “No matter what you decide, you have my support. I would love nothing more than to have a mini you running about the flat, but it's your choice. No matter what, I love you, and will be here to support you.”

Sherlock’s face crumpled and he buried his face in John's neck again. John mentally kicked himself. Clearly he’d mucked that up.

“Oh, love. I’m sorry. Please, tell me what I can do to help.”

“John, I’m not upset.” Sherlock managed to convey the _you idiot_ through his tears. “I’m crying because I’m so h-aaapppyyy!”

The last ended on a wail as Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck again, arms wrapping tightly around his Alpha. John could only return the hug, burying his own face in Sherlock’s curls, relief, gratitude and love for his Omega filling his chest and tightening his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

“John?”

“Mmm…?”

“John.”

“Hmm?”

“John!”

John jerked awake, hand reaching for Sherlock even as he sat up and scanned the room for danger.

He realized he’d been brought awake by the Omega, who was looking at him with  a mixture of pleading and anxiety.

“What is it, love?”

“I’m hungry.”

John stifled a groan. While he was happy that Sherlock was eating more, it seemed his cravings only ever came in the middle of the night, long after John had drifted off to dreamland.

“What do you want?” he asked, already getting out of bed.

“Chips. From the chippie near the tube that does fresh garlic. With French mustard.”

“Right.”

Fortunately, the chippie stayed open late as they got a large portion of their business from pub crawlers from nearby pubs. Unfortunately, he’d have to go to the Tesco’s in the opposite direction for French mustard, since it was the only one open this late and the chippie did not serve French mustard.

He grabbed his wallet off the nightstand and dropped a kiss to Sherlock's curls before heading out.

***

“Brother mine.”

“Mycroft.”

“I am afraid apologies must be made. I didn’t foresee the potential consequence of my recent actions.”

Sherlock froze in place, violin bow inches from strings as his eyes focused, laser sharp on his brother’s face.

“It was you?!” For once, John beat Sherlock to the punchline.

Mycroft grimaced.

“I needed Sherlock distracted and protected. The Woman was working with Moriarty and would have ultimately given that snake enough information to ensnare my brother further in his despicable games. I knew I could rely on you to take care of him once my brother was off suppressants.”

John sniffed hard, lip curling. Sherlock jumped up, realizing he needed to interfere before his brother was given a black eye or thrown down the stairs. Either was likely with John glaring at him like that.

“And while I was so effectively distracted, I trust you took care of the problem?”

“Indeed. The texts The Woman sent to your phone were intercepted by our team. We fed her misinformation, which she in turn fed to Moriarty. In the end, our net closed around both of them.”

Sherlock knew there was more.

“And?”

“Unfortunately, Moriarty did not survive the attempted arrest. We did manage to bring in several key players in his network alive, and from there it was child’s play to dismantle his little criminal enterprise. The Woman somehow managed to work out a deal with the Americans. Witness Protection.”

“Witness Protection?”

“Well, that’s the official story,” Mycroft said with a shrug. “None of that is why I am here, however. I have come to offer my apologies and offer my support; and ensure you know that you have options.”

“Options?” John’s voice was a growl.

Sherlock nearly snorted in amusement. Mycroft was only offering him the same choices John himself had. But it seemed his Alpha balked at anyone else making such a suggestion to _his_ Omega.

To his credit, Mycroft only paused for a fraction of a second before answering.

“Yes. Options. My brother is not without people who care for his well being. I will not see him placed in an untenable situation because of my mistake.”

John actually seemed to relax at Mycroft’s words. He stood and made his way to the kitchen, tossing a “tea” over his shoulder as he left the brothers alone in the living room. Mycroft’s eyebrows rose, and Sherlock could no longer hold back his grin.

“Oh, really, Mycroft! Did you really think John was some Alpha knot head who was going to force me to breed whether I wished it or not?” He let his amusement show on his features, before shooting a glare at his brother. “If you truly wish to make amends for what you’ve done, you will release my trust. We will need the funds when John quits work to stay home with me and our child.”

Mycroft tilted his head in the slightest acknowledgement, his opinion of the doctor changing yet again as he was reminded once more why John Watson was the perfect mate for his brother.

***

Sherlock took a deep breath as cold gel was spread across his stomach. The technician shot him an apologetic smile, even as he pressed the applicator to his slightly rounded abdomen. He shifted it around a bit, staring at the monitor, before pressing a button on the keyboard, then shifted the wand again.

“Just marking a few things while we look for a good picture. I think you’ll be able to hear the heartbeat just. Here.” He smiled at them again as a throbbing staticky sound filled the air, and then pressed a button again. The sound echoed as the wand shifted. “Oh. There’s two! Congratulations! Twins!”

John's hand tightened around Sherlock's, and Sherlock looked up to find a grinning dumbfounded look on his mate’s face. He realized he was grinning as well, though a healthy dose of shock kept him silent.

The technician stood, saying something about the obstetrician being in in a few minutes and left them alone. The sound of the door shutting seemed to restart Sherlock’s brain, and he sat up.

“Twins?!”

John shrugged. “They run in my family.”

“Twins?!”

“Twins.”

John lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s.

Sherlock felt the ridiculous smile return.

“Twins.”

***

John exited the bathroom, humming softly. He felt more relaxed than he had in a couple of weeks. A long, hot shower, an indulgent wank, plans to cuddle on the couch and watch Bake Off…

He stopped short when the sound of muffled crying reached his ears. He looked around the room, spotting a Sherlock shaped lump under the covers of their bed. He frowned. Sherlock was covered head to foot, with a pillow pressed over his head.

John stopped staring and moved towards the bed when a muffled sob sounded from the pillow. He approached the head of the bed, sitting carefully and reaching over to run a hand up Sherlock's back before peeking under the pillow.

Sherlock remained stubbornly turned away, ignoring John as if he weren't even there. John sighed, lying down behind his Omega, reaching his arm out cautiously to wrap around his waist. When he wasn't immediately ejected from their bed, he leaned in close to press a kiss behind Sherlock’s ear, taking a moment to scent him deeply before whispering in his ear.

“What's wrong, love?”

Sherlock sniffled, took a deep breath and rushed out an answer on one long, shaky breath.

“I'm fat and hideous and you would rather wank in the shower than make love with me!”

John stilled for a moment, then pressed closer to Sherlock.

“That is simply not true, love.”

Sherlock rolled his head back, glaring at John.

“Yes it is! You just spent fifteen minutes in the shower pleasuring yourself, John Watson! Even though we haven’t had sex in weeks and you finally have a night off and we have plans to stay in! You chose to get yourself off without me!” Sherlock heaved in a deep breath, rolling all the way over and sitting up. “I am fat! I can barely see over my enormous stomach! My ankles are always swollen. I am disgusting. I pass wind and have hemorrhoids and drool in my sleep. You don’t find me attractive anymore, you‘d rather get off in the shower than attempt to have sex with your fat, disgusting mate!”

“Do you really not know how much it turns me on to see you gravid with my child? I spend my days in a constant state of semi-arousal. If I didn’t wank in the shower every night, I’d be poking you in the back all night with the proof of just how much I want you. But I know how tired you are, love, how sore you are every day. I don’t expect you to see to my needs. It's my job to see to yours,” John stated calmly, placing his hand gently on Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock glared, refusing to be easily won over.

“Well, you’re not seeing to my needs. I _need_ to have your cock in me, every day.”

John’s eyebrows lifted and a sinful smirk curled his lips.

“That can be arranged.”

***

John watched as his daughter was laid across Sherlock’s chest. He held their son, who had come first. One of each. He grinned. They hadn’t wanted to know the sex of their babies, choosing instead to be surprised. The gender neutral nursery and baby items waiting back at 221B were going to be perfect for their babies.

“John. She’s so beautiful.” Sherlock’s voice was reverent as he carefully held their daughter close, encouraging her to root and suckle as her brother had just over a quarter hour ago. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her tiny fingers.

“Yes. Just like her Daddy.” John’s voice was thick with emotions as he stepped closer, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s hair.

“Have you decided on names?” the midwife’s assistant asked quietly, a cheerful smile seemingly permanently etched to her face.

“Katherine Louise,” Sherlock said, quiet but certain. John felt his eyes mist. They had discussed names, of course, but he’d never really expected Sherlock to choose something so sentimental as naming their daughter after John’s mother and their wonderful landlady, who was currently like a mother to the both of them. “And Hamish Michael.”

John smiled as Sherlock looked up. That one had been decided after much debating at home. Sherlock had been insistent that their son would carry his father’s name, if they had a son. John hadn’t wanted his son saddled with Hamish, but in the end, had been unable to deny Sherlock this wish. When John had suggested Mycroft as a middle name (after all, if it hadn’t been for the interfering prat, they might not be here), Sherlock had been aghast. He’d refused to saddle his children with any names that stood out too much. He wanted his children to have typical “normal” names. John had been saddened to realize that Sherlock’s own experiences with bullying shaped his opinion on that matter. Mike had been nixed as not fitting with Hamish, despite John pointing out that it would be a nod to both Mike Stamford, who had introduced them, and Mycroft. In the end Michael had been chosen, and their ( _potential)_ future son had been dubbed Hamish Michael.

“Oh, what lovely names,” the assistant cooed.

John realized Sherlock was riding high on birth hormones when the man didn’t even roll his eyes at the sappy comment. He grinned down at the Omega.

“I love you.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed pink, as they always ( _still)_ did whenever John said those three little words.

“I love you, too.”

Shortly, they would be moved from the birthing room to a private family room, with a large bed (big enough to accommodate all four of them and then some) with all the amenities, courtesy of Mycroft. Sherlock would need to rest. Their babies would need to be weighed, reflexes tested, drops placed in their eyes and all the other little things that came after delivery. But right now, in this moment, it was just the four of them. John looked at his family and felt his heart fill to the brim. This was it. This was all he could ever want in this world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://nottoolateforthegame.tumblr.com/)


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